


A Road Paved with Corpses

by anitaupstairs



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anti-social Daryl, Brothers, F/M, Possible some other pairings, Sofia is kind of a bit of a BAMF, Sofia's fate is different, and Carl is a little scared of her, and follows her lead, long intro, maybe going AU?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anitaupstairs/pseuds/anitaupstairs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The birds were chirping in the white birch. The swallows flitting from branch to branch, tiny black ghosts on silent wings. In the clear blue sky, light was fading to grey as the moon rose. Despite the world had going to hell in a hand basket, the bird, oblivious to the world around them, carried on.<br/>Once part of Mr. H. K. Jenson’s family farm, the road stretched on in both direction, a dusty ribbon, with a few stragglers, limping inexorably onward. And in the woods, removed from the road, light shone from between the trees and someone screamed.</p><p>A young woman is forced out of hiding and thrown into a dangerous world of the risen dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: A scream, a tree and an unlikely meeting

_The birds were chirping in the white birch. The swallows flitting from branch to branch, tiny black ghosts on silent wings. In the clear blue sky, light was fading to grey as the moon rose. Despite the world had going to hell in a hand basket, the bird, oblivious to the world around them, carried on._  
 _Once part of Mr. H. K. Jenson’s family farm, the road stretched on in both direction, a dusty ribbon, with a few stragglers, limping inexorably onward. And in the woods, removed from the road, light shone from between the trees and someone screamed._  
       She squeezed her eyes shut, praying that somehow she would tap her heels together and be anywhere but here. His fingers, blunt and greasy, skimmed her chest as he redoubled his efforts at unbuttoned her shirt. She shivered, a combination of bone numbing cold and mind numbing fear, the motion set her swinging slightly.  
       The quick-ties round her wrists, which had been chafing before, burned now. In the rapidly falling dark she could only see faint shapes and shadows of trees. She shook again, this time with fear. Dark was when the, the things, seemed most active. She strained her eyes, trying to see any flicker of movement beyond the trees. She could see little, the forest was so dense. Even so, she could hear the other man was talking, his nasal voice getting closer.  
       The shorter one was standing beneath her, still fumbling with the buttons on her shirt. The taller one, the mastermind [although she was using that term on a relative scale], was advancing towards her, through the trees. She could hear his heavy footfalls cracking twigs and crushing leaves. Her head still throbbed and her vision was blurred round the edges. Shock she thought absently, maybe a concussion. Even with her blurry vision, in the gathering dark she could make out his nicotine stained teeth, bared in a leer. He stopped in front of, but slightly to the left of her. He rocked back on his heels and then leaned forward. The action brought his sunburnt face only a few inches from her own. She lent backwards, trying to avoid having any contact with him. Before he’d moved too quickly for her to get a good look at him, now that she was able to, she rather regretted it. He was fat, or had been fat. Now his skin hung unpleasantly loose, swaying slightly as he stepped towards her. In the way of some men who rapidly loose weight, he still bore the paunch characteristic of a beer belly. It looked as if someone has deflated his face, and now his jowls wobbled precipitously as he moved.  
       Distracted by her perusal of the leader, she missed the shorter one moving in again. He resumed his campaign against her buttons, looking up now at her face. His face was as round and pallid as a full moon. His cheeks were pockmarked and pitted, and when he opened his mouth to cough, she could see he was missing his front two teeth. Still coughing sporadicly, he undid the last button and flicked the sides of her shift apart. He wheezed, the exertion of pulling her shirt off taxing him. The breeze brushed her shoulders, bared to the night air. She tried to focus on something other than his arms circling her, pulling on the clasp of her bra. Her brain stuttered and came to a halt.  
       This was about to happen, she was going to be one of those girls, who gets found in the forest in Bones by some unsuspecting picnickers. Well, she would have been one of those girls if the world hadn’t gone batshit nuts. Now, it was commonplace to see grisly skeletons, the type that haunt crime scenes and nightmares, walking the streets. Oh god, what had happened. Maybe this was some sort of fever dream and she was going to wake up in her bed. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing with all her might. But it was to no avail, she could still hear the sound of the short one’s breathing, and now she could feel in against her skin. She tried to hang limp, give no indication of how truly terrified she was.  
       The short one had a hang nail, she could tell because he kept snagging the blue lace of her bra strap. She whimpered as he pressed closer to her, fiddling with the clasp. She tried to disconnect, this was her mortal shell, she was ether, she was ephemeral she was, oh god, she was about to die. The trees blurred further as her vision tunneled. Something incongruously bright centered her. A blue heeled oxford was laying on the pine needles a yard away. When had she lost her shoe? Thinking back to that afternoon made her head ache. She already knew the hair was sticking to her head, matted with congealed blood. Perhaps she had some sort of subdural hematoma, maybe there was internal bleeding and in a second she would keel over. That would show her two would-be rapists to slam peoples’ heads against the foliage. Thinking about the attack made her seethe with anger, she had been so stupid!  
The other one, the one with more teeth, had grabbed her from behind. God when was she going to stop being so trusting. She’d gone to college alone, she knew to always bring her own beer to parties, never to leave her keys under a rug on behind a potted plant. She should have kept on diving. She never should have stopped, and certainly not gotten out of the car.  
       When the first one, the short one, had asked if she’d seen his daughter she had been suspicious, but he’d looked so sad. So he’d also looked unkept and dirty, but she’d assumed she couldn't look too much better. Everyone looked unkept and dirty, personal hygiene did loose some of its importance when confronted with the end of the world as you know it. She had figured it would only take a second, and maybe she had seen the girl. The photo had been torn and filthy but the little girl couldn’t have been more than seven, with a wide gap-toothed smile. She remembered Sara’s picture from about then, maybe second or third grade. She’d helped her pin her curls up in two french braids, and let her wear some of her jewelry, an old, slightly tarnished silver Celtic knot. She had been so focused on the picture she hadn’t heard the tall one come up behind her.  
       Like any city girl she had tried to knee him in the groin. She’d seen Miss Congeniality, she knew to S.I.N.G. Unfortunately, she hadn’t figured on two men, or that what one lacked in height he made up for in wiry muscle, or that her fingers gouging wherever she could reach, would hardly phase him, slapping her fingers away like so many buzzing mosquitos. She must have lost her shoe in the struggle as they dragged her off the road. Her ribs felt tender, maybe bruised, that too was from when he had winded her.  
       Lost in her reverie she followed the line of a tree trunk behind her abandoned shoe. She noticed a dark stain on the bark of the white birch where her head had hit the knot in the tree. Blood. The stain was her blood. She mused that it looked like quite a bit of blood. Rivulets had run down the furrows in the bark, making it look for all the world like someone had shot the trunk. It seemed fitting, nature bleeding, after all the natural order of the world seemed to have been thrown out the window. If she were nature she’d be bleeding too.  
       The sudden loss of pressure alerted her to the inevitable, somehow the man, probably only one evolutionary step above an Australopithecus, had managed the clasp on her bra. She gasped and let out a choked, halting breath.  
       "Don't cry girly." He ran his fingers over cheek, catching on the swell of her mouth. Running the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, pulling it down she could taste dirt and sweat and the unmistakable coppery taste of blood. She began to tremble in ernest. He leant forward, smelling of roast meat and halitosis, his oily lips were suddenly against hers. He sucked on her bottom lip, and she bit him, the force required to surge forward made her wrists scream and the world spin, but his profane exclamation was reward enough.  
       "Fuckin’ Bitch bit me! Marvin, did you see that? The little bitch bit me!" The man, holding his hand to his lip, backed away. Marvin, the tall one, cackled. She could see him moving forward again from his place by the small fire, his face red, sweaty and twisted into a cruel smile. The deep shadows around his eyes were in sharp relief by the rising moon, making his face look more like a skull.  
       "Feisty aint ya?" he smirked, then turned to address the short one, nursing his swelling lip. “I told you Frank, all these little trumped up 'career women', just a bunch of city whores. Love nothing better than to get a man by the balls. They get off on it, ya know. But once we show 'er how to treat a man proper, this ‘un could be fun." he spit a stream of brown tobacco from the corner of his mouth. Swiping the back of his hand against his chin leaving a streak on the puffy flesh, Marvin grabbed her chin,  
       "She’s been awfully quiet. What do you think girly?" She had been silent. Noise, light and motion attracted the more undesirable and undead occupants of the forest.  
The end of this confrontation seemed inevitable, so she threw caution to the wind and snapped,  
       "I'd rather get bit!" She snarled, and working up her final reserves of courage, spit in his face.  
Marvin raised his eyebrows, and used the corner of her shirt to wipe his face. Then he winked at her,  
       "Oh, I can do rough if that's what you're into."  
She jerked back, pulling her chin out of his reach. She moved to bring her legs up, but after hanging like a draining deer for several hours her muscles wouldn’t cooperate and she slumped back on with a yelp of pain as she felt her shoulders grinding together, straining against the stress of holding her up.  
       "I’ll scream." she was shivering now, cold and fear and a creeping sense of inevitability were setting in.  
       “Why’d ya wanna do that for, huh?” Marvin grabbed her hair, wrapping it round his hand to stop her swinging away.  
       “Told you,” She panted, “I would literally rather be eaten alive by the walking dead, than get fucked by an impotent redneck.” The look in his eyes told her she had gone too far, but what did it matter, her big mouth had always gotten her in trouble, why should this time be any different. Frank’s red face only got redder. She had made him angry and now she was going to reap the rewards.  
       He grabbed the back of her neck, holding her to him and grinding against her hip obscenely. She screamed. She really didn’t want to be a victim of the dead, she’d seen people, people being eaten, but in that instant she would rather have the flesh stripped from her bones than have this man’s hands on her for another second. So she screamed, pouring into it all her fear, her anger at being in this place, her hatred of these men and others like him and the steely certainty that this might be the last thing she ever would do. She regretted an instant later.  
As if conjured by her scream, someone had just emerged from out of the woods. Someone alive by the looks of it.  
       “Frank!” Marvin yelled, all thoughts of caution and machismo thrown aside as he warbled out a tremulous cry.  
       “Deal with it Marvin, gonna show this bitch what it’s like to ghet brok’n in” Oblivious to the newcomer Frank palmed her breast, moving the bra that hung from her shoulders out of the way. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear,  
       “Bit small, but I’ll make due”  
       “Make due with this!” She kneed Frank in the groin and watched him double up and fall backwards. Not her best one liner, given the circumstances, it would have to do. Looking down at Frank she almost didn’t notice Marvin was gagging. He stumbled as if he was drunk then fell to the ground. There was a sharpened stick running through his neck, which, she assumed, accounted for the gargling noise.  
Before Frank had time to stand up again, the man was on him. There was a sickening crack, just the the one her wrist had made when she was eleven and riding her bike in the rain. Frank dropped, now just dead weight. The man straightened up, flicking his eyes up and down her still suspended body.  
       “Howdy Darlin’ how’s it hangin’”  
She blinked, this was a hallucination, she was dead or dying and her brain had fabricated this fiction to make its self feel better. She chuckled, then blanched,  
       “Pleasure to meet you, I’m going to be sick”  
       “I get that reaction a lot” he muttered, cutting her down just in time. Unfortunately, her wrists, chafed and tingling with restored blood flow, didn’t hold, and a day that had begun with such promise ended with her face down in her own sick.


	2. Chapter 2: An introduction, a plan and shoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction, a plan and shoe

She was cute, in a sort of school teacher, porno librarian way. All he could see was her pert ass and some very tangled brown curls. Still, from the little he’d seen of her her hanging like a side of meat from the tree, he was relatively sure she would be cute. Well cute if she wasn’t covered in mud, dust, blood and vomit.   
“Up yea ghet girley” He grabbed her elbow, pulling her to her feet. He was taller than some but shorter than many other guys, but he dwarfed her. Damn, she was just pushing five foot, like really really tiny. And only in slacks and her bra, huh, would ya look at that.   
“Merle Dixon”   
“Jeannette Aberdeen.”  
She wiped her hands on her slacks, then proffered her left, it was always good idea to be polite even to a figment of your imagination. He ignored her proffered hand, looking her up and down. She drew a heavy breath, blinking rapidly, then, gathering herself she let out a stream of words so rushed as to be almost continuous.   
“Thank you Merle, may I call you Merle? Thank you for saving my life. This is rather rude, but before I get to comfortable with the idea of surviving till morning, you don’t have any intention of killing, eating, raping, or dismembering me or any combination or permutation there in, do you?” She paused, drawing a breath and watching him, eyes fixed on his face.  
Merle almost laughed, “Nah, ‘sides, if I was gonna, I wouldn’a let ya run yer trap so much.” She smiled slightly and nodded, her snarled hair bouncing up and down. Her eyes were unnaturally wide and she was trembling from head to foot. He was almost certain that she was going to be a handful as soon as the shock wore off and she realized exactly what had just happened.   
In a past life, and not that he’s proud of this, but he would have thought about it. Not the eating or dismembering or nothin’, and not the rapin’ either. More along the lines of physical persuasion. She was tiny, and just standin there in ‘er bra and pants, and well, it wouldn’t take much effort to just finish the job.   
That was before. After the van had run out of gas he’d bushwacked into the woods. He wasn’t a hunter, not like Darlina was. He could manage himself in the woods and the underbrush meant he could hear the geeks coming. On his way through the woods, he’d seen two girls. One dead, raped he supposed and other things besides, then gutted. The other, well that was somethin’ that would stay with him till he died. Someone had stripped her, and must’a lashed her between two saplings. They had cut her hair, cause there were great blond hunks of the stuff lyin’ ‘round. She’d been raped as well, that much had been obvious, and cut too. The worst thought, what would haunt him, was that the saplings that had been pulled together, had been cut free from each other, but not her arms. From the look of all the blood, she may have been alive, when they’d let her get ripped to peaces. That wasn’t a fate he’d wish on anyone, not even fuckin’ officer friendly.   
Oh, he was still an evil bastard, he knew that much. He had left his only family in the world, and had spent the better part of The End of the World out of his mind on drugs. Still, God, or luck or some unnamed force had let him escape the roof. Merle was never a religious man per say, but he had sworn then, that he would do what he hadn’t done before, what he had failed to do when he had been young and angry and full of self righteous anger. He’d never been a pray’en man, but here he was. If there was ever a man less deserving of salvation Merle didn’t want to meet him. Even so, he had escaped and he was alive and now, now he had to pay the piper. Truth be told, and he would never own up to this, but he had half hoped the scream came from sugartits, Andrea, or her snot nosed sister, or the bedraggled one, Carol. He didn’t want to go back to the dogooders, didn’t want them judgin’ and makin’ rules, but he needed to get back to Daryl and that would mean finding the group and having them not kill him. With luck, Daryl would have managed to not fuck things up to badly, and he could get his brother and go. Surviving a confrontation and leaving with some supplies would be much better if he had a bargaining chip.  
Granted, it could have been worse. He was almost certain that the men he’d killed, were then men who had strung up blondie. Looking down at Jenny, he wondered if she too would have been trussed and killed. He wasn’t much for the white knight roll, but her was glad he had heard her screams, he seemed to be loosing his taste for blood. Besides, fresh blood brought walkers.   
She smiled and wobbled unsteadily, seemingly unbothered or apathetic to his self reflective silence. Walking a few feet to pick up a ridiculous looking high heel. She swayed, arm’s flailing. He was waiting for her to burst into tears. No one could go through that and come out right as rain, no one who was normal anyway. He didn’t really want to be around when she lost it, crying girls weren’t really his thing. Still, after he had left the do-gooders he had noticed, people, especially good people, were precious hard to find. He looked up in time to see her loosing her balance.  
“Woah there...” he reached out an arm, the wrong arm, and she slipped, falling to her knees.   
“Damn” he hissed and cradled his wrist, well, his wrist-stump.  
“Oh,” she sprung up again, peering at his arm.   
“Oh, I can help!” and with that she turned, listed first right, then left, and set off into the woods.   
“Damn” he muttered. He’d known it, this girl was goin’ to be trouble. Flighty. He could tell already. Still, he didn’t want to be in the clearing with the dead bodies, attracted walkers.   
He walked in a straight line, predator and prey. The trees were more regular here, planted in rows, not all random like. He could hear the girl crashing through the brush, if she had been bigger he would have worried about walkers, but as it was, they would be more likely to scope out the fresh blood. As he followed the noise he let his mind wander again, his solitude seemed to foster this introspection.   
Merle honestly didn’t know what to do. This was, perhaps, as close as he’d ever gotten to an existential dilemma. Daryl was his brother, the only family he had, and the only person he had ever felt responsible for. And you could see how that had turned out. He wasn’t a good big brother by anyones metric, but blood was blood. He loved Daryl, he’d never tell him that, he wasn’t a pussy. Still, he loved his brother and he didn’t like leaving him with those do gooders. Do gooders got themselves killed. Do gooders got those around them killed too. None of the PTA, town council soccer moms would be able to put down someone that got bit. Sure, they might be able to cuff ol’Merle and leave him, but he was a red neck, not one of their own. He knew they had seen him as a threat from the moment he’d ridden up on his bike. Soon as someone they cared about got bit all bets would be off. They’d drag their sorry, decomposing, biting, murderous corpses around till someone got else got killed, and he wanted to make sure that someone else wouldn’t be his baby brother.   
He looked up from his musing, only to see Jenny, tits out, well in a bra, but still, running towards him, holding a muddy, straggly bunch of plants. She pushed him onto a fallen log, her hands never seeming to still as she flitted around.   
“Tarragon and Thyme, both said to have anti-viral and anti-microbial purposes. Don’t suppose you should eat them, I mean you could...” She trailed off, tapping patterns and making calculations on her fingers.   
“Plantain, comfrey and chickweed for burns and swelling. With that, she ripped the bottom half of her shirt, no small feet for a pixie, he thought. She put some of the leaves into the middle, in what looked like a very bland, very expensive salad at some Michelin star restaurant, then proceeded to beat the everliving shit out of it.   
Jenny wasn’t stupid, she knew that trusting the murderous redneck was probably not her best idea, but, then again, he had saved her life and it was the apocalypse. She hadn’t noticed his hand, which was stupid of her, as it was really hard not to notice. The fact remained, he was certainly a murder, but she had been running around with nothing but her bra and pants, so rapist was probably out of the question. If he was a cannibal, surly he would have gone for one of the bigger men he had killed, rather than following her. She was sure she couldn’t take him in a fair fight, after all, she had seen him kill those two men. She also knew how sore his arm was. If she dug her nails in and then ran, she might stand a chance. Jeannette, Jenny, didn’t feel safe per-say, but it was the closest she had come in months.   
Lost in her musings she whacked her thumb with the heel of her shoe she was using to mash the herbs. Damn. She looked back at the pulverized mash and wished she had her books with her.   
“What ya doin’ girly?” Merle peered down at her  
“I um, I’m a historian, a military historian. I was writing my PhD on the history of field medicine and it’s evolution over time. New thought I would have to use it in a practical setting, I mean, it’s a liberal arts degree*, but I never thought a lot of things...” She trailed off, her large green eyes going glassy with tears. She blinked, shuddered and turned back towards him.  
“Hold our your, um...your arm” she sent a little prayer and slapped the compress on the taught pink flesh.   
“You cauterized it.” She smiled, “Very clever.” He raised and eyebrow, staring at her. She blushed, and backed away a few paces. Her hands were trembling with nervous energy she felt light headed, like nothing was real anymore. Merle was talking again, she focused, trying to disperse the fog in her head.   
“We ain’t all like them two you met girly, some of us ain’t bin inbreeding long enough, still a bit of brain there” the corner of his mouth twisted up, enough to let her know he wasn’t mad.   
She blushed again, feeling silly and ungrateful,  
“Sorry, you’re right. Still it was very clever.” She thought about asking him how he’d lost the arm, but that seemed very personal and she had enough fodder for her nightmares to last her a lifetime, the last thing was a 27 hours horror story to keep her awake.  
Away from the clearing, her breath only just settling back into a normal rhythm, she looked up at him, he had a hard, lined face, a face the brooked no argument. The ambient light showed the lines and wrinkles in harsh contrast. His eyes glinted out of their sunken sockets and his mouth was bracketed by deep, grim lines.He looked tough, the kind of man she would cross the street to avoid, but now, compared to the dead and the living she had encountered, he was looking like a good alternative.   
“So...” she trailed off  
“So, where you headed girly?” the compress helped some and she seemed harmless enough. Merle’s brain was suddenly whirring. Daryl would hopefully want him back, and besides, he was older and stronger and Daryl opinion on the matter was not to terribly important. The other do-gooders would certainly like to see him dead. But if he turned up with the little lady, someone who could explain that he had saved her, that he was reliable enough to rejoin, well then his problems could be solved. Failing that, he could use her as a bargaining chip, try and play off the groups sympathies to get Daryl and some supplies in exchange for her. She was bright and looked forlorn and small and sad and the other women would take pity on her. After all officer friendly shouldn’t be able to resist a college educated white girl in need of assistance.   
He had missed the beginning of her talking, lost in his own plotting, he shook his head, hoping he had been looking engaged. Now that he needed her, to get Daryl, he had to keep her with him, and that would be easier if he didn’t have to truss her up.   
“...my PhD advisor, but my little sister lives near Atlanta so I was going to get her, but then all the bodies, the blood and the smell, so I skirted around. Fat lot of good it did me.”   
She and been knealing on the ground next to him but as she moved to stand she lurched and crumpled back to the ground. Merle grabbed her chin, tilting it up to look in her eyes.   
“You feelin’ alright girly?”  
“No” she murmured, and for the second time in an hour, threw up.   
*AN no disrespect, I’m going partially into LibArts and I think they’re wonderful, just not always practical. If I have offended anyone, please pm me so I can apologize properly.


	3. Chapter 3: a ghost, a ghoul and a graduate

“Look ere girly” He was gruff, but his fingers on her chin were warm. Jenny focused on drowning out the pounding in her head long enough to look up.   
“Let me see yer eyes” She opened her eyelids as far as she could, stemming another wave of nausea.  
“You got a concussion sure as damn it, did one of em bastards bang yer ‘ead upside a tree or someit?” She nodded and wrenched again.   
“Sit still ‘en. You gotta stay awake thought, so just keep talking.” Her face, already pale had drained of all color.   
“They grabbed me, and they would have, they would have, oh God!” Jenny could sense Merle moving around, he slid off the log to sit beside her.   
“Hey, Hey now. None of that ya hear. It’ll attract the geeks. Now, I’ll get you all patched up and you’ll stop all that snivelin’ alright.” Although his words were assertive, it was obvious that a crying assault victim put him so far out of his depth he might have been in the marianas trench.   
Jenny gave a watery giggle and nodded, even though it made her head throb. Merle motioned for her to lean forward. As she did her removed what was left of her white silk shirt. Jenny stiffened, not sure what would be coming next, but he only began ripping it into strips.   
“So Merle,” she grimaced as he bound a particularly nasty gash, “How do you know about concussions?”   
Merle sat silent, shredding more strips of cloth. He rubbed one between his fingers, lost in though. Jenny was just about to apologize for asking when he opened his mouth. He considered, shrugged and began.   
“I was in high school, well, I was enrolled en high school, didn’t do much on ta attendin end, but anyways I was ‘bout eighteen, I went out fer the weekend. It was just me en Pa en Darylina then so ‘e must ta been about elven. So I ghet back from my weekend en what do I find, but no Pa en little Darylina sittin on the stoop with ‘is eyes all glassy en unfocused. Well he had a concussion, that was plain as day, en he was crying en wimperin’ and bein’ a little girl. In Juvi the doc would let us help sometimes, let us clean the surgery en shit, so I knows he had to be kept awake. We go inside, I make a good pot of coffee, and sit ‘im down”   
Jenny smiled, she had been an only child and her mother, well her mother had no maternal instincts to speak of. Having someone to watch your back, to be your mentor and your friend, that would have been lovely.  
“So, little Daryl is drinkin’ ‘is coffee, which is thick and black as tar, en he’s complain’ all the way, but even then he starts noddin’ off. So, I does what I have to, I start in on a good ‘ol ghost story. I can’t remember what it was ‘bout but there was this guy with a bum leg en he made this ker-thumpin’ noise when he walked. So he starts twitching and lookin’ over ‘is shoulder. Anyway, I tells ‘im stories for a good few hours. Then I have ta ghet up to piss, I come back in and he’s slumped over, almost asleep. So, I walk in all quite like, en I got my work boots on, I was doin’ construction about that time. So I gots these thick boots on en I start draggin’ the one leg ‘hind ta other. He almost pissed himself. Poor lilly little Darylina.”   
Merle chuckled and Jenny smiled. Being occasionally horrible to your younger siblings seemed a requirement.   
“So you two are close then?”   
Merle looked away, his face in shadow.   
“Na, I was quite a bit older then Daryl. I left home when I was sixteen. Spent a few years in en out-a juvie. Came back just long enough to see him about to high school then I cleared out and spent some time in the army.”  
Jenny nodded, shivering without her shirt. Merle pulled off his vest, throwing it round her shoulders.   
“Thanks,” He nodded. Jenny smiled, her eyes taking on a far away quality, “I ran away at fifteen. I saved up money. I started working. I made up this elaborate lie about after school programs and I would go and work at a diner for a few hours, I didn’t make great money, but if you’re polite and friendly and memorize the specials, you can get some pretty good tips. I got about six hundred dollars and I bought a ticket to Phoenix. I was going to run away, go live with my Dad and Sally. There was an amber alert out on my by the end of the second day. I never got to Phoenix, but I did get a hell of a lecture.”  
Merle chuckled, “Woulda gotten a hiding in my family.”   
“I think I would have rather had the beating then the lecture. Anyway after that, I just waited, and as soon as I could I left. I went to Vanderbilt.”  
Jenny trailed off. She wasn’t one to share her personal story, and the last thing she wanted to do was show weakness. She didn’t need him thinking she was some lost little girl. Lost little girls were vulnerable. He had saved her, but then again, the world being what it was, his motives could be anything.   
The silence stretched on, unpleasant in the darkening night. After yet another uncomfortable pause Merle spoke up.   
“What did you study?” Merle wasn’t terribly interested, he would listen, but then he had to. She needed ta like ‘im, ta trust ‘im if she was gonna tell the do-gooders what a reformed saint he was. So he asked.  
“Like I said, I’m just finishing up my doctorate in military history. I always liked reading about the battles, and the uniforms. I did a lot of research into the medicine, but really I liked all of it. I worked a summer or two at...” Merle lost interest, he focused instead on not yawning. It wasn’t like he’d have to recite this back to her, he just needed to look vaguely interested long enough to convince her that he was worth vouching for. He suddenly tuned back in,   
“...my sister. So the last time I saw her she was pretty little. We were going to move somewhere else, just the two of us. Maybe travel, you know, see the world. We wanted to get to England, up to where Beatrix Potter lived. She used to love those books about the little animals. Peter Rabbit, Mother Gooses you know?”  
Merle scoffed and didn’t answer. Yes, actually, he did actually. Daryl had liked the story about Peter Rabbit, and so, surprisingly, had Merle. The rabbit had balls. He could identify with that.   
“What was er name?” Merle was whittling a spare bit of wood, balancing it with his stump against his knee.   
“Sally. She was only my half sister, but we wrote to each other a lot. She’s dead now. I mean, I didn’t see her die, but I just know. Like you know that Daryl is alive I know that Sally didn’t make it out. She loved people. She was always volunteering, trying to save the world. When people started getting sick she would have been right with them, in the hospitals or a nursing home. She wouldn’t be able to leave, I couldn’t stay. I never had the heart for it. She could keep that distance, but me, I cried over worms on the side walk, cats and squirrels by the side of the road, even other people’s pets.”  
Jenny looked upset now, her wide mouth downturned, her eyes hooded. Merle weighed his options and decided that now was the time to lie, well, to lie out loud.   
“I’ve seen it, it’s fast, she wouldna felt much pain.”   
Jenny smiled, a little sadly,   
“Yes, yes she would have. The fever cleans you out, makes every nerve feel like it’s burning. I can only hope that maybe there would have been someone to put her down. I was interning. You know, trying to finish up a science credit so I could do more history during my grad work. Anyway, I was at a research lab and we had samples of it.”   
They sat in silence for a while before Jenny spoke again.   
“So, are you going to leave me?”   
Merle shrugged, “Naw, I like you now, yer funny. ‘Sides, three hands are better than one.” She grimaced at the poor joke but he continued, “I got a car not far from here, we can travel together, find Daryl and the others.” Jenny nodded, smiling her too big smile again.   
“I need to get to my car as well. It’s the other side of the orchard. We can scope out the farm house too, but I think the car is the best bet.”  
Merle wanted to tell her that the men, her would be rapists, had probably cleared out the car, but he didn’t. They could check quickly, and maybe there would be some food in the farmhouse. He nodded.   
Jenny smiled, her eyes looking darker, chocolate flecked with forest green and tiny specks of gold.   
“You sleep, I’ve got to stay awake anyway, who knows what’s out there, or in here for the matter, she added, tapping her own head.”   
Merle nodded, leaning back against the log. Although he had no intentions of sleeping, he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a rush job-I started and couldn't stop, so I do hope there aren't too many errors. One or two more before I introduce my Romeo and Juliet, so thank-you for being understanding and for reading.


	4. A bed, a jar and a fall

In the morning, Jenny was able to track Merle’s finger, if a little sluggishly, and it was determined they would start out towards her car. Merle found some sturdy branches and they each took one. Jenny was almost positive that, confronted by a walker, her nerve would fail and the only thing she’d be any good for would be running. Merle seemed convinced she would be able to stab a stick into an oncoming walker’s head. For all that he was gruff, Jenny liked Merle. Before the End of the World, Jenny was relatively sure she would have avoided a man like Merle at all costs. Now though, chauvinists and red necks were far from the worst things you could run into, and Jenny would rather spend eternity wearing a mini skirt in a bar filled with Hell’s Angles, than see another walker. Men like Merle, women too, people who could get things done and hang the consequences, they had the upper hand in this brave new world. 

For all that Jenny was excellent at her job, her skills in skewering the undead were questionable. Jenny was certain Merle could do it, hell, he’d done it to people, a corpse should be no problem. She just hoped he would get to if before she had to. Jenny actually hadn’t killed any of the walkers. When Atlanta had, for want of a better word, fallen, she had been in Roswell twenty minutes out, at a gas station. It had been out of petrol but she’d gotten a case of bottled water and a few snickers bars. When she had fled the lab that fateful morning, food had been the last thing on her mind. 

_“Jenny” Ian’s clipped British accent cut through her revery._

_“Hey Ian, what can I do you for?” Jenny stirred another creamer into her coffee. It was almost egg shell white, more cream that coffee._

_“I wanted to know what your department was up to, those samples from Kennestone. Those ones from the woman, ripped her husbands’ throat out.”_

_Jenny squinted. The report Ian wanted wasn’t written yet, all she had was raw data and a nasty hunch that either every machine in the building needed to be re-calibrated, or that shit was about to hit the fan. Still, Ian could have the data, as much good as it would do him, she’d known Ian for five years and eight months, since she’d started at Vanderbilt, and he was a good guy, but...Wait, why was she justifying this?_

_The research was classified, and even if it weren’t the results she was getting would be enough to make anyone think she’d lost it. Tissues just didn’t behave like this one did. Ian was a good guy, but he was sticking his nose where it was neither wanted nor warranted. So, she plastered a smile on her face, and shook her head._

_“You know Ian, it wasn’t worth it. They sent us a contaminated sample, I mean I think someone literally coughed all over the samples before they shipped them. We’re still working but pessimism is in the air.”_

_Ian mumbled something about a tough break and patted her on the shoulder, but Jenny was already up and moving._

_She clicked up the stairs, her oxfords tapping on the linoleum. In side the lab, Marie and Pierre were in their cage, one of the white mice running on its little blue wheel. Terry had inoculated Watson and Crick the night before and Jenny peered in, expecting to see them out and about. They weren’t. Just as she was about to amble over to her lab station, Crick stumbled out of the hutch, his fur coming off in patches. His eyes, normally black and beady were milky white and staring. His nose twitched and he lurched towards the glass, rearing up to throw his tiny body against it. His teeth gnashed, and Jenny realized the little mouse could smell her. It wanted her, well, it wanted flesh. She wondered, with a sinking heart, what had become of Watson. One thing was certain, what ever had been in that tissue sample, it was bad._

_Jenny walked back down the hall and took the elevator to the second floor. She walked past Mary and Tim, nodded to Karry and swiped her keycard, pushing open the store room door. Aspirin, gauze, antibiotics, tranquilizers, saline, two_ _suture_ _kits, topical cream, some scalpels and a stack of alcohol wipes. She slung her now bulging purse over her shoulder and walked out again. She left, waving goodbye to Arnold the security guard and clambering into her car. An hour later, her car two suitcases heavier, she was on the road again._

The bodies hadn’t really been apparent till she’d gotten closer to Atlanta, she’d hit three with her car, their gore splattered up the side of her car, some of it on the upholstery. She’d stopped for the night, hid up a tree. The next day, on her way to check the red farm house, she’d seen the man, the one that had wanted to kill her. And now, now she was here. 

Merle looked over again. She was still out of it, looking up at the sky and twisting the stick between her hands. He wondered absently what she was think about. If she was anything like him, she was probably thinking about Sasha, or Sarah, whatever her little sister was called. He was certainly thinking about Daryl. That was the problem with losing people, you forgot how much you wanted them until they were gone. He’d never appreciated Daryl, Daryl had been an annoyance, a little boy who cried and slept fitfully, who followed him around and never spoke to strangers. He’d spent most of his teenaged years resenting the little boy for stealing their mother’s affection, for getting into trouble, for making him cover with Pa.

Walking next to Jenny he realized how well Daryl had learned. Jenny, while by no means loud, still stepped on dry leaves, brittle branches and loose gravel. The result was a low, but constant noise. Daryl had always been silent. Just like a ghost behind him. His feelings about Daryl had only worsened with age. Guilt and anger and shame warred with a desire to be emotionless, not to show weakness. All the threads had gotten knotted up, and separation had only pulled that knot tighter. Now it was a mess of crisscrossed strings and fraying edges. 

Just as he was about to ask Jenny if she knew where in the hell she was wandern’ off to, they emerged onto a dirt road. Merle stiffened, looking for any sign of walkers, he didn’t like bein’ out en the open like this. With the way apparently clear they turned left, heading in the direction of the car and the house. 

The road was dusty, the ruts deep and filled with stagnant water from the recent rain. Merle kicked at a pebble, sending it skittering off into the grass. He’d almost giv’n up hope, when a pale yellow punch bug appeared on the horizon. Muddy and bloody, Jenny broke into a run, jogging along in her ridiculous heels, her slacks and Merle’s vest. He chuckled, whatever else he though of her, she was certainly funny. 

When he reached her she was red in the face, her fists clenched. On the telephone wire above the car, several colorful banners fluttered in the light breeze. Merle quirked his eyebrow,

“What’s goin’ on girly?” 

“My bras. They threw my bras over the telephone line.” and then she started sobbing. Merle was even more confused. He looked at the ground, two suitcases were open, contents strewn across the ground. Jeans, shoes, tops and books. What worried him was the muddy prints and the blood smeared on some of the clothes. 

Watching her sniffling he figured he was lucky it had taken this long. She was good, useful even, but she was a city girl, en city girls weren’t made fer hard livin’ or rough men. He waited till her crying tailed off, then spoke. 

“Walkers, they been through here.” 

Jenny sniffed and nodded, then held out her hand. 

“Your knife.” Merle shrugged again and handed over the blade. She wrinkled her nose at the smell, bits of bone and hair still clung to the business end, still she took it and set her mouth in a fine line. Jenny strode to the boot of the car and pried open the tire compartment. Instead of a spare tire, a bag was stuffed into the hole. She lifted it, and slung it over her shoulder. Then, leaning down she rifled through the clothes. Merle groaned, this would take hours, he knew how women were with their fucken’ clothes. Almost immediately she stood.

“The walkers, they must have smelled, well smelled ‘me’ on them”, she pointed with distain to several streak of blood tinged slaver across a pair of black jeans. Merle held out his hand and she passed him the knife, but not before wiping of some of the gore with the jeans. She picked up a pair of blue converse that had escaped both the walkers and the men, hidden as they were under the car. Looking over the mess of dirty cloths, ripped fabric and dirty she stooped, picking up an ancient looking book, the cover fraying and faded. She had her documents in her purse, as well as the medicine and supplies she’d stollen and the snickers bars. The men had taken the case of water and the cloths were worthless now. She didn’t want to come in contact with the remnants of the walkers. She had open wounds and Jenny didn’t want to find out how virulent the whatever it is was.   

They turned and headed away towards the farm house. The cicadas and the birds, singing the song of spring, blocked out the faint moaning, coming over the crest of the hill a few paces past the farm house. Tired from a poor night, sleeping rough, both either ignored or failed to notice the noise as they pushed open the door screen door, letting themselves inside the darkened farmhouse. 

Jenny riffled through the cupboards, finding some canned vegetables and, to her delight, some of, what she supposed were last years peaches. Merle didn’t stick around in the kitchen, it was, after all, the women’s domaine. The house was simple, think wooden table tops, gingham curtains and a woven rug under the threadbare sofa. He tested the water in the small downstairs bathroom and was pleasantly surprised to find that, while ice cold, it was running strong and clear. He could still hear Jenny banging around in the kitchen, so he slipped out, heading upstairs. The stairs looked hand hewn, with shallow depressions from wear. The walls were painted a sort of washed out blue. He paused next to a framed sampler  

_“my grace is sufficient for you for my power is made perfect in weakness”_

The house was silent, which made him edgy. He flattened himself against the wall, sliding up towards the landing. Somewhere around the seventh step the smell started. 

The landing was sunlit and warm, worn pine and the same pale blue walls. There were more framed quotes, but Merle was too focused on the smell. There were three doors, one was open on a half bath, one closed, one ajar. Merle stayed pressed against the wall, edging to the closed door. He twisted the knob, knife pressed against the length of his arm. The walls were pale pink, the bed was white enameled metal, the sheets, neatly made, were also pink. Merle swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat.

The smell was coming from the other room, it was faint, not like a walker, well, not like a fresh walker. There were three bodies. A man, a woman and a little girl. He’d used a shot gun, so there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot to go on. The woman and child were on the bed, the man slumped on the floor beside it, his bowed head facing the window. Merle ignored the mess on the bed and peered out the single window. A jeep was parked outside. The floorboards creaked loudly. He turned around stopped. Well shit. 

 _________________________ 

Jenny dropped the glass jars into a canvas bag. She was glad it’d been a farm house, fresh canned food, home cooking and no need for a can opener. The pantry was almost empty, dry ingredients would be of little to no use on the road. Jenny found an oiled sack hanging behind the door, and loaded it with the jars she’d found. She poked at a muslin wrapped cone, peeling back the sticky fabric to find hard, brown sugar. That too went into the bag, readily available energy was nothing to be sniffed at. The bread in the breadbox was moldy and stale, but behind the tea cups in the cupboard was a bottle of scotch. That too went into the bag. Jenny knew that she should look for other useful things, clothes or tools, but it felt too much like looting. 

The living room was darker, but there were candles on the mantle and matches besides them. Those went in the bag as well. Just as she slipped up on tiptoes to read a framed embroidery, She heard two shots in rapid succession. Jenny skidded across the floor and hurtled up the stairs. She gagged on the smell, but pressed forward through the open door. 

The woman and a little body, it’s face completely gone, lay on the bed. Merle was pinned against the wall by a walker a shot gun discarded behind him. The walker, blood seeping through it’s shirt emanating from the tip of the knife that Merle was using to keep it at arms length, growled and strained, intent on food. Without thinking, Jenny swung the bag, heavy with canned food, at the walker’s head. It listed to the side and Jenny brought the bag down again. Something cracked, although whether it was a jar or the man’s skull, she didn’t know. Jenny grabbed the smooth curve of a jar through the canvas and brought it down, end first, on the man’s, the walker’s, temple. Again and again, until flecks of blood and little chunks of brain splattered her arms and face. She didn’t notice these, nor did she notice the tears in her own eyes. 

Merle straightened, bending down and retrieving the shot gun, only then, as the sound of glass hitting bone died down, did he hear the moans, and the rattling of a screen door. 

He rushed past Jenny, kneeling on the floor, and peered out the window. the walkers were coming. He almost fell down the stairs, so quickly did he take them. The door was rattling, and with three walkers pressed against it, the old wood and mesh wouldn’t hold for long. Merle looked out the bay windows, the ones that fronted towards the road, and there he saw it. There was a herd coming.   
_________________________ 

Jenny fell to her side. Her hands were sticky with blood and she could taste bile and the salt of her tears in her mouth. Merle was coming back up the stairs. She registered the sound although she didn’t react. She had just beat a man’s head in. Granted, the man had been dead, of a fashion, already, but she had just committed murder. 

Merle was talking to her, dragging her up, shoving her shoulder. He had a pink comforter in his hand and she giggled with how odd it looked. Merle muttered something about crazy bitch, and then glass was breaking and she was flying through the air. She landed with an oof on the roof of what must be a porch, sprawled on the pink bedding. Merle clambered after her. He emptied both barrels of the shot gun into the approaching walkers, and although the bast stalled these ones, it only served to entice the herd on the road, who were coming ever closer. 

Merle grabbed the edge of the comforter, and dragged her to the edge of the roof. He dropped over the side, then pulled her down too. He grabbed her face, framing her pale skin with his rough hands, and screamed, giving her a hard shake with each word. 

“We have to run. Run.” 

This seemed to get through the fog and she nodded, some of the color coming back to her face. The set off, dodging the walkers and pounding towards the road. Even with each footfall moans only grew louder. Merle could hear his breath rasping, Jenny was gasping like a fish. They rounded the bend and were out on the open road. The herd surged forward, and Merle knew what was going to happen. Stupid though the beasts were they were forming an inadvertent pincer that would cut off any chance of escape. He could shove Jenny, drop her right in their path and run as they ripped her to shreds. There were a few cars up ahead, maybe they could hide. fate chose for him, and Jenny vanished, she screamed as she fell, her foot, still in her work shoes had caught on something. Merle wanted to turn, to see what happened, but he kept running, his footfalls heavy as his heart. 

 _________________________ 

Jenny struck her head and starts burst in front of her eyes. She instinctively curled, rolling off to the side. Her momentum, redirected by the fall, sent her over the side of the road and down into the muddy river. By the pure luck of happenstance, Jenny’s trajectory took her directly into the path of a log, floating downstream. Held aloft by this makeshift raft, she floated out into the middle of the brackish river. This would be her salvation. The water, polluted with the bodies that, like Jenny, had rolled down the embankment, reeked of death. The herd paused slightly, a few scenting the air, looking for something, though not sure what. Most kept following the running man. **food**. 

 _________________________ 

Sofia plucked another dandelion, adding it to her growing handful, behind her, Carl scuffed the gravel with his shoes. Carol shouted to them, telling them not to go to far. Carl waved as Sofia scanned the barren ground for more of the elusive yellow flowers, she wanted to give them to Andrea. Sofia didn’t understand what had happened at the CDC, not really, but even she could see the defeated slump in Andrea’s shoulders. When her Mom had looked like that, Sofia had always tried to cheer her up, to varying degrees of success. Flowers, she had learned, helped. So did cards or notes, but she didn’t have any paper and her Crayons were worn down anyway. The others had stopped, trying to fix the motor home, which had given out after only thirty of forty miles. Sofia edged down the side of the road. There was a muddy ditch and growing along the side, several fat yellow flowers. She moved like she’d seen Daryl move, slowly, following through on each individual action. 

“Sofia!” Carl sounded shrill and panicky. 

She brought a finger to her lips, looking up at him, 

“What Carl?” 

He pointed with a shaking finger at a corpse lying half in half out of the water. It was flecked with mud and blood, one pale arm extended towards her. Sofia crept closer. The body remained still. She looked, Sofia thought, not at all like the walkers. She looked like Sleeping Beauty from her story book, just wetter and muddy. She poked it with her foot. Nothing. Finally she rose up on her haunches, rolling the dead weight over. The woman, for that’s what the body was, didn’t moan, or lurch, or do anything a walker should. Still, it’s, her, chest rose and fell. Sofia ignored Carl’s sharp intake of breath and pried open one of the woman’s eyes. The iris was not the odd grey blue of the dead, but a dark forest green. 

“Mom, Mom there’s a woman here. She’s alive!” 

 


	5. Chapter 5: A question, a friend and green eyes

Sofia grabbed the woman’s arm, pulling it up and out of the ditch. Carl, after a moment of indecision, joined in, heaving on the dead weight in the ditch. Carol, who never more than a hundred paces from her daughter’s side, was there in moments.   
“Sofia,” her voice shook and Carl could see that her face, under the dirt and grime of their time on the road, was as white as bone.   
“Sofia, sweetheart, get away from that.” Carol was edging down the side of the ditch, wobbling with every step. Sofia, intent on the body she had now extricated from the mud, ignored her mother. Lori, the second to arrive on the scene, had none of the hesitance of Carol.  
“Carl Grimes get your butt over here right now. I will count to three.” She took a step down, hand extended, face hard.   
“One...”  
Sofia looked up, her face bright, split by a toothy smile.   
“Mom, she’s alive. I found her, and we can save her. Help me pull her up.”   
Carol looked over at Lori. Lori’s mouth was a hard line, her eyes wide with fear and indecision. She worried that Carl and the group were growing cold, immune to the suffering of others. Even back at the camp sight, the group had been ready to burn the bodies, even those that had once been their friends. They were still human, and their humanity was precious. Lori slid the rest of the way down the embankment and grabbed the body under the arms, pulling it up and towards the road. Carol joined in, tugging ineffectively as Carl and Sofia alternately pushed and pulled.   
The four would be rescuers gathered around the body, now laying on the tarmac.   
“Is she breathing?” Carl asked, whispering as he lent inward.   
Lori placed her ear over the woman’s mouth, feeling the ghosting of breath.   
“She’s still breathing.”   
Lori sat up on her haunches.   
“Carl, take Carol, run and get your father. Don’t stop, don’t shoot, don’t make any noise. We’ll wait her.” All of this was delivered in a hushed, urgent whisper. Carl looked from Sofia to his mother, then back again. Sofia smiled.   
“Mom, please, hurry and get Rick.” Carol nodded, still looking a bit shellshocked. She grabbed Carl’s hand and the two set of towards the RV, and presumably Rick.   
Sofia and Lori lent over the prostrate body on the ground. Lori looked at the woman properly for the first time. She was young, maybe in her mid twenties, pale, with a mess of hair. She was wearing a black leather vest, her ribs bound with strips of shirt. She had scratches down her arms, bruises around her neck and a rapidly swelling wrist. Her bag, the shoulder strap still looped over her arm and lying across her chest, was pushed under her head. Lori wondered what this girl had been through. She had an idea of what the outside world must be like. It was hard enough living in a group of good people. The end of the world changed people’s values, changed them. She’d hate to think what it would be like for a single girl, on the road, without a group.   
As Lori thought, Sofia sat silently, blinking soulfully down at the woman.   
“She looks like my Mom.” Sofia whispered, half to her self.   
Lori’s head shot up. She’d seen Ed and his wife, and she could draw conclusions as well as the next person. Lori wondered if maybe Sofia just found something about the woman familiar. Maybe it wasn’t the bruises or the cuts, alas Sofia continued.  
“Sometimes, when she did something wrong, Mom and Dad would go in their room. Then Mom would look like that.” She gestured at the woman.   
“Did” Sofia stopped, “Do you think she’ll be okay?” Lori wasn’t sure if Sofia meant her Mom or the woman, bur either way, she nodded.   
“She’ll be fine honey.” Sofia opened her mouth as if to speak again, but before she said anything Glen and Rick arrived at the top of the embankment.   
“Lori” Rick sounded as scared as Carol had only minutes before.   
“Lori what are you doing?”   
“She’s alive Rick, Sofia and Carl found her in the ditch.” Lori gestured at the prone body on the ground. Rick knelt, feeling gingerly for a pulse. The woman stiffened as Rick’s fingers came in contact with her neck, sitting bolt upright she lurched back down, coughing river water and trying to push herself away from the little group that had gathered around her. She looked from Rick to Glenn then Lori and Carol, finally taking in the two children. She coughed again, licking her lips.  
“Are you the do-gooders?” She asked, her voice horse  
Rick cocked his head.   
“The do-gooders?”   
She chuckled. Rick, used to dealing with victims in shock, could see faint tremors starting, her hands, curled in her lap, shook almost incessantly. Here eyes were very wide and her skin had lost any of the color it had had. Rick rocked back on his heels, watching as she seemed to weigh her options. Finally, wrapping her arms around her torso she leant back, her breathing slowing. “Does the name Merle mean anything to you.?”   
Glenn stiffened, Rick’s eyebrows shot up and Carol gasped. The older woman’s eyes went to the bruising around Jenny’s neck.   
“He told me about you. We, um, we ran into each other. Anyway, I didn’t think I’d find you, in fact, I didn’t think I’d ever be doing much of anything ever again. Merle is looking for Daryl, his brother? Is he here?” Her voice was wispy and hoarse but she seemed sane enough.  
Rick ignored her question. He extended his hand, offering both a greeting and, as he rose to his feet, and a hand up.   
“My name is Rick, I’m a policeman. This is my wife Lo ri and our son Carl. That’s Carol and her daughter Sofia, she found you, and Glenn.” Glenn waved awkwardly, Carl stood close to his parents and Carol stared intently at the young woman’s face.   
Taking Rick’s proffered hand, the woman rose to her feet, slightly unsteadily.   
“My name is Jeannette, Jenny.” Her voice wavered. Rick smiled, unsure where this woman was from or why she was here. She looked harmless enough, but as the gang in Atlanta had proved, looks could be deceiving. He wasn’t eager to have her close to his family quite yet.   
Sofia, it appeared, had other ideas. She took Jenny’s hand, leading her towards the cars.   
“Mom, can she stay with us?” Carol looked to Rick, who looked back down at Sofia.   
“Sofia I need to talk to Jeannette first, okay?” Sofia shrugged, but acquiesce.   
Rick looked Jenny in the eye. Normally he would assume she was a victim, treat her accordingly. These days, everyone was a victim. Rick nodded, deciding.   
“So, Jenny, what’s your story?”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own any of it-please don't sue me, I am very very poor and comics are very very expensive-hence, in part, the poverty. 
> 
> I love the dynamics and conflict of The Walking Dead, I was, like the majority of the fandom, entranced by Daryl Dixon, our squirrel slinging Lancelot. I would love to see him interact in a romantic setting, partly because I feel he would be so bad at it. A bit AU, bit OOC. I think that Carol is better in the show, less needy, so either she and Daryl will just be chums or she will be a bit less likable at times. Don't know when I will update, with SATs, APs and Subjects, things are nuts. May follow the show, may follow the comic, may throw caution to the winds and go nuts...we shall see


End file.
